


three

by icygrace



Series: I forgive you, I forgive me [3]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Future Fic, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Olympics, Post-Olympics, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:27:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: "On June 28, 2028, the day of the 200 fly final at US Olympic swimming trials in Omaha, Nebraska, Oliver Lochte-Phelps will be 14 years, 10 months and 27 days old. Should he qualify for the Olympic team, he would become the youngest male to make a US Olympic swim team in 96 years – just ahead of his father, Michael Phelps, who made the team in 2000 at age 15.”Set 10 years afterWhat the Water Gave Me.





	1. Ryan

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically, follows _damned spot _, _just you and your hand tonight_ and _knight in shining speedo_ in the _Reezy Knows Best_ collection. Precedes _driving me crazy_ , _parking in cars with boys_ , and _tweedledee_. The first of these that doesn’t really have humor/crack-y elements, so I’m interested to see what anyone still reading might think!__

_Wednesday, June 28, 2028 – Omaha, NE_

 

Oliver’s obviously tense when he comes over, when his uncles pat him on the back, when Debbie and his aunts hug him, gives Cullen a half-hearted fist bump and tries to muster a smile back for Charlie’s “still a good swim, dude.”

 

\---

 

Charlie wasn’t so smiley when the race ended; he looked as bummed as if _he’d_ just come up short at Olympic trials. But he wiped the disappointment off his face the second Evan spotted Oliver winding his way toward them all.

 

Well, more like when Isa elbowed them both, ordering them to “stop looking like somebody _died_.”

 

Ryan and Michael and Lo know better than to try any of that and Ryan wishes they’d said something to the others, but some stuff’s just private.

 

\---

 

After a little Oliver just gives everyone a half-smile and a shrug, says something about how _there’s always next time_ and another about being tired – “you know, adrenaline, gonna lie down or whatever.”

 

\---

 

Ryan knows – they all do – that 3rd place is an amazing finish for a kid who’s not even 15 yet and competing against the country’s best swimmers at their peak. Especially when he finished so close to the second-place finisher.

 

He’s not lying – not even to himself – when he says he’s proud of Oliver.

 

But he also knows that because one _and_ two qualify for the team and go on to the Olympics, in a way, three – even though it’s great – might seem worse to Oliver than four or five or eight.

 

\---

 

When it comes to losing, what Oliver says and what Oliver means ever since he was old enough to race are usually two really different things.

 

When it comes to losing, Oliver is more like Michael than he wants to admit. More like Michael than Michael wants him to be.

 

Oliver’s just better at hiding it.

 

\---

 

Ryan goes back first, only a little while behind Oliver.

 

If Oliver’s reaction is anything like Ryan half-expects, he’s hoping Oliver doesn’t break something they can’t replace.

 

The door to Oliver’s room is closed – but not locked. The little desk lamp is in pieces on the rug, but that’s the only damage. And Oliver’s asleep.

 

\---

 

He sits and worries and thinks about what he’s going to say when Oliver wakes up, changes it in his head over and over until Michael and Lo turn up. Lo’s got her headphones on and she’s mouthing the words to whatever she’s listening to as she flops down on the couch and ignores them both.

 

Michael grabs a bottle of Evian out of the mini fridge and takes a swig. “Where’s Oliver?”

 

“Sleeping.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We saw Bob –”

 

“Don’t,” he snaps. It’s harsh and he knows it, but he doesn’t want to talk about Bob right now.

 

“ _Okay_ then.” Michael gets his laptop and starts typing away and Ryan’s texting back and forth with his family and their friends until Michael gets up and speaks up again.

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Not –” He looks up from his phone.

 

Michael’s not actually talking to him. “Lo?” he says a little louder.

 

She’s still got her headphones on, but she’s not singing along anymore. She’s munching on some trail mix. Michael takes an earbud out.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Kind of, yeah, but Aunt Hilary gave me this and it’s actually pretty good, so –”

 

“How about dinner?”

 

Lo shrugs. “I guess.”

 

Now might be a good time for them to get dinner. It’s already late and they can bring Oliver something back. He won’t want to go anywhere tonight, but he’ll be hungry when he does wake up.

 

“You guys can go, I’ll stay here, don’t want Oliver to wake up to an empty room.”

 

“Actually, I’m not really hungry. Maybe –”

 

“I’ve got it, it’ll be fine,” Michael insists.

 

“I could just go by my –”

 

“No,” they say at the same time.

 

\---

 

After a fast, silent dinner that he spends checking his phone and trying not to draw attention to himself in case anybody recognizes them, Ryan pays and grabs their takeout orders for Michael and Oliver. He asks Lo to give them some time alone with Oliver. Everyone that came to see Oliver with them is staying here anyway, so she’s got a lot of options.

 

“Daddy –”

 

“ _Lo_.”

 

\---

 

He takes a walk before heading back, but he can’t keep putting it off. The first thing he hears is Oliver’s raised voice.

 

“Can you just, like, _leave me alone_?”

 

“ _Oliver_ –” was followed by a slammed door. Which is followed by pounding on a door – probably the same one – and “Damn it, Oliver!”

When he really notices Ryan there, Michael turns to him. “Like why is it always you?”

 

“Why’s _what_ always me?”

 

“You always fucking talk to Oliver.”

 

“Um –”

 

“Why were you all, go get something to eat with Lo, like basically get the fuck out of here before?”

 

“That’s not –”

 

“That _is_ ,” Michael snaps, jumping to his feet and striding past him towards the door.

 

Why is Michael getting angry at _him_? Like what the fuck even? He’s been on edge all night and now Michael, just _fuck_ – “Jesus _Christ_ , Mike, it’s _not about you_.” He drops the food on the table with an angry thud. “Not everything is fucking about you!” He reaches for Michael’s arm when he notices Lo in the doorway, staring at them with wide eyes, keycard dangling from her fingertips.

 

“Sorry, I forgot my –”

 

Michael leaves with a shoulder squeeze for Lo and a terse “See you later.”

 

“What was that about? Are you guys, like –”

 

“We’re . . . This is tough.”

 

“No kidding.” She sighs, perching herself on the side of the couch. “Daddy, I just . . .” Lo trails off.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I don’t want to bug him, but, like, I don’t want him to think I don’t care or something. Like . . .”

 

“He knows.”

 

“But –”

 

“You guys are just different. And like, this –”

 

“Is different,” she finishes.

 

“Yeah. Just – right now, I think maybe you should just go see somebody? Like Nana or Grandma or whoever?”

 

“Daddy, that’s not really doing anything for –”

 

“It is.” Because it gets everybody out of the room for enough time for Oliver and Michael to cool down and Ryan to talk it all out with Oliver. Lo won’t have to hear them fighting. It’ll all work out.

 

Hopefully.

 

“But –”

 

“He really needs a time-out, OK?”

 

She sighs as she’s texting. “OK.”

 

“So take your time. Don’t come back right away. I’ll text you.”

 

“Got it.”

 

\---

 

He gets wanting to . . . make it better, to fix it for Oliver, but Michael of all people should know he can’t _fix it_ for Oliver. Oliver just needs time to deal.

 

Like, he’s not going to get over it in five minutes or five hours or five days.

 

Honestly? He probably won’t get over it until the Olympics are over and out of the news.

 

Maybe never.

 

Shit, _fuck_.

 

\---

 

A drink might help him calm down.

 

He hasn’t got much to work with, so he takes Lo’s leftover orange juice from this morning out of the mini-fridge and pours it in a glass, followed by two tiny bottles of vodka from the minibar. He’s proud of himself for not tossing in the third or anything else in the minibar. He might need that for later, when Michael gets back.

 

It’s only once he’s thrown that back that he feels like he might be ready to deal with Oliver.

 

“Oliver.” He knocks on the bedroom door. “Oliver, open the door. If you don’t open it, I’m gonna break it –”

 

“Is Dad out there?”

 

“No.”

 

The door swings open.

 

“I wanna talk to you. We can do it in there or we can do it in the living room.”

 

“In here.” Oliver slumps back against the headboard and Ryan does the same.

 

“I know. It’s a lot. It’s tough on you. You’re stressed out –”

 

“Of course I’m stressed out!” Oliver interrupts angrily.

 

Of course he is, but Ryan’s still stunned.

 

It’s the kind of outburst you might get from Lo, but rarely. There’s some times she gets a little . . . extra when she’s stressed out. Like normal pre-recital jitters turn into panic. You can tell it’s coming by how badly bitten her nails are. If there’s blood, she’s about to blow a gasket. 

 

But never from Oliver. Oliver pretty much always stays calm and carries on. Especially with swimming.

 

But it shouldn’t surprise him, really. This is so much bigger than anything Oliver’s tried to do with swimming before. “Yeah, I know. It’s a lot. It’s tough on you.”

 

Oliver’s not really listening. “Like, I lost and it sucks, but no one would care except, like, you guys if it wasn’t – like I wish –” Oliver cuts himself off abruptly and pulls his knees up to his chest.

 

“You wish what, kiddo?”

 

“Like . . . you know.”

 

“You know what?” he asks after Oliver’s been quiet for a long time. “’Cause I don’t.”

 

“Like, it was you. Like you were, like my . . . Like Lo.”

 

He’s glad Michael isn’t here right now. Even if Oliver’s obviously just upset and Michael’s the easiest target and he doesn’t mean it – and Ryan knows he doesn’t mean it – hearing it would fucking break Michael’s heart.

 

But he doesn’t say any of that. “They’d still do it. Media messes with everybody. I mean, me, OK? I got dumped on for talking a big game before London and not living up to it. And like, it’s true I didn’t, walk the walk or swim the swim or whatever.”

 

“Pop –”

 

“But I did fine. And you know what else is fine? Not making the team this time. You’re _14_. Even he was 15. And yeah, it would’ve been cool to come in a little ahead of him and be, like, the youngest guy ever to make the team, but honestly? I don’t know, if I didn’t know how bummed you are and how hard you’re working . . . I’d kinda be glad. You get to be normal for four more years. Because, like, I know there’ll be other stuff before the next Olympics, like other meets you’re gonna qualify and everything and you’ll do great, but the Olympics . . . that changes everything. That’s totally different than just being the kid of two retired Olympians.” Some of this they’ve said already, but Oliver might need a reminder. “Like, that’s gonna be your own thing and people are gonna be in your face and wanna know everything about you and it’s just . . . a lot and we’re not gonna be able to protect you from all of it. Like Dad? People mess up and do stupid shit and that’s a normal part of growing up. You make mistakes. But when you make the Olympic team at 15 and you win 8 medals at 19? I mean, even before Beijing, like people totally jumped all over any little thing he –”

 

“I mean a DUI’s not a little thing.” Fucking Google. “Like you guys would be so mad at me and Lo if –”

 

“Yeah, we would be. It was really stupid. And illegal. And your nana was pissed. But it sucked that everybody and _their_ mother thought they had a right to an opinion. That’s between him and people close to him and like, yeah, the cops. Not between him and America. And you better not do stuff that bad, but you’ll mess up, too, and so will Lo and . . . maybe now you get to figure it all out without people we don’t give – care about jumping up and sticking their noses in.”

 

“Like I guess. Whatever.” Oliver gives him this look . . . it’s a look he’s seen before. On Michael. When he doesn’t want to admit Ryan’s right. Oliver’s quiet for a long time. “Pop?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s already a lot.”

 

Oliver’s always wanted – but – “You don’t have to do this, you know that right? Like if you just wanna swim at school, that’s totally fine. We’re here because we thought it was what you wanted, but we just want you to be happy, Ols. That’s all. If you don’t want this, just say –”

 

“But I _do_. Even if it’s a lot – I just – I do. Like it’d be easier if I didn’t or like didn’t even like it but I do. It’s just – like I wanna – I just like wanna do the best I can, but I almost wish I sucked, because then everybody would stop talking about Dad, like I wouldn’t even – didn’t you get tired of it?”

 

“Tired of?”

 

“Of people just like . . . comparing you to Dad? Like it’s not enough to be you, but just like . . . unless you’re the _Greatest_ , better than the Greatest, you’re not good enough.” Oliver sighs.

 

“I don’t know that this is gonna make you feel better and it’s sappy as hell, but it’s true. I – we – we all think you’re more than good enough, kiddo.”

 

“Thanks,” Oliver says quietly. “But like –?”

 

Ryan sighs. “Of course. I liked winning. I liked being the best when I was. It wasn’t easy being second best when I wasn’t. But I liked swimming most of all, you know? Like it was just me and the water and it was great. Not always – but like, most of the time, that’s what it was about, for me.”

 

There’s a lot more he could say. He knows a lot about what it’s like to get angry and frustrated about the comparisons.

 

\---

 

_Saturday, December 8, 2018 – Gainesville, FL_

 

“Think about Michael Phelps the Greatest Olympian of All Time, Michael Phelps who kicked your a – butt in the pool event after event, meet after meet, year after year. Michael Phelps whose shadow you’ve been stuck in for most of your career. Michael Phelps whose name will _always_ come before yours in the history books – if yours is even there at all, other than as ‘husband of’ the Greatest Olympian of All Time, who also happened to have swum at the Olympics and won some medals. _No big deal_. Think about _that_ guy. Think about all the times you didn’t get enough credit for all the amazing swimming _you_ did – all the times you blew everybody else out of the water – because it wasn’t thought to be up to _his_ standard before making any hasty decisions, OK?”

 

 _Michael Phelps whose name will_ always _come before yours in the history books – if yours is even there at all, other than as ‘husband of’ the Greatest Olympian of All Time, who also happened to have swum at the Olympics and won some medals._ No big deal _._ The thought disgusts him, leaves a vile taste in his mouth, threatens to make the formerly tasteless pizza he’d put down halfway through Erika’s spiel come back up.

 

Having all the blood, sweat and tears he put into his swimming – all the _sacrifices_ he made, all the sacrifices his _family_ (both the family he was born into and the family they’ve built) made – reduced to nothing in the shadow of Michael’s legend is too bitter a pill to swallow in that moment, on top of what Michael did, on top of how it’s brought a nightmare – a nightmare that’s really only just getting started – crashing down on all their heads. His heart’s pounding double-time now. It’s fucking _infuriating_ ; right then he wants nothing more than to put his fist through the nearest wall.

 

Or Michael’s _face_. He’d stopped himself once, ages ago, but he’s not sure he could just now. Because it’s just . . . too fucking much, today of all days.

 

The thought has him gripping his empty beer bottle so tight he’s lucky he doesn’t end up with little bits of glass stuck in his hand. He knows from experience that hurts like a motherfucker. Still . . .

 

\---

 

_Wednesday, June 28, 2028 – Omaha, NE_

 

“Am I like bad for being mad or –”

 

“No. I didn’t say it never made me mad. I mean, it made me wanna worker harder, but it made me mad, too. Of course it did. It’d make anybody mad. Like if we compared you and Lo all the time, like how you do in school –”

 

“We both get –”

 

“I know. You’re both smart. But say if it was always like, oh, yeah, Lo, nice 95 on that test, but Oliver got a hundred. Your sister’d get ticked off. Or like you get an A on your essay and she gets an A+ and we’re like, why didn’t you get an A+, too? You’d get mad. Because you worked really hard and got an awesome grade, but we’re not even giving you credit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But you just have to try and make it so being mad’s not the main thing, or it’s gonna suck the fun out of swimming. It’s supposed to be fun. Well, getting up at the crack of dawn isn’t fun, but like, racing. Racing’s fun. You do you, you try to beat you. Not the guy in the next lane, not Dad. You.”

 

Oliver nods and then they just kind of sit there without talking for a long time but it’s not awkward, not much. It’s almost normal.

 

\---

 

He must have dozed off.

 

Oliver looks up from his texting.

 

He blinks and sits up and starts to worry. Michael left ages ago and he was so pissed off – “Was I out for long?”

 

“Yeah, it’s late.”

 

“Your dad back?”

 

“No.”

 

He grabs for his phone. There aren’t any texts or missed calls from Michael.

 

“Lo’s still out, too. Like don’t we have a curfew?”

 

“It’s like a special . . . situation. Tattle-tale.” He messes with Oliver’s hair.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Baby.”

 

Oliver rolls his eyes. “But like I texted her and she didn’t answer –”

 

Ryan’s got three texts from Lo.

 

**(352) With Aunt Hilary**

“She’s with your aunt –”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Hilary.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“So it’s fine.”

 

“I see how it is,” Oliver mumbles, texting furiously.

**(352) She says I can sleep here if you want**

 

**(352) Staying here**

 

The last one’s from a few minutes ago. He sighs.

 

**(386) no come back**

 

He gives it ten minutes for Lo to answer but he gets nothing. “I’m gonna go get your sister, she’s got a bed here, it’s stupid for her to sleep over there.” He swings his legs off the bed, even though he really doesn’t want to get up. 

 

Maybe he doesn’t really _need_ to. Michael’s gonna come back eventually and he doesn’t know how that’ll go and Lo will be fine with Hilary –

 

“She’s –”

 

The outside door clicks open. Shit.

 

But the footsteps are too soft to be Michael.

 

“Sis?” Oliver calls after a few minutes.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Where are you?”

 

Lo pops her head in the bedroom door. “Hey.”

 

“You didn’t text me back,” Ryan scolds.

 

Lo shrugs. “Sorry.”

 

“I was gonna come get you –”

 

“You can come in, you know,” Oliver interrupts.

 

She hesitates. “I figured –” But she gets in on Oliver’s other side. “Move over,” she orders, pushing at Oliver till he rolls over onto his stomach with a huff even though he just invited her in. She scoots in, chin propped in one hand and eventually starts running the other over Oliver’s back.

 

The room’s too quiet without their usual banter, but it’s easy enough he decides he can leave Oliver with just Lo for a bit. Maybe he needs that.

 

Back in the living room, he’s alone with his thoughts again.

 

\---

 

_March 2026 – Baltimore, MD_

 

“D’you think he’s right?” Ryan asks uneasily.

 

_Bob._

 

“That Oliver needs more of a challenge? Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Michael rubs at his face.

 

“He’s a kid, Mike.”

 

“I know. But –”

 

“Like not even a teenager.”

 

“High school next fall. And like if he _was_ going to make a big change, that’s the time –”

 

“We’re definitely not splitting up our _family_.”

 

“We wouldn’t –”

 

“You don’t think sending Ols to live with your mom here is splitting us up? That’s what Bob –”

 

“I don’t want to do that either.” Michael sighs.

 

“Good.”

 

“So it’s a definite no.”

 

“Didn’t say that. It’s not. But the only way he swims with Bob is we go with him.”

 

“We go with him . . . we _move_? To Baltimore?”

 

“Yeah.” Six years ago, he would’ve only if he had to and hated it, but now it’d be OK. 

 

“But we’ve never –”

 

“Like I’m not saying we definitely _should_ , but if he goes, we go.”

 

“Yeah. Obviously. But like –”

 

“We could.”

 

“But should we? Like we can move but like . . . it’s not just him or us. It’s Lo, too, and like . . . my sisters took a lot of time out to follow me around the world to meets and your siblings did too, but they never had to uproot their whole _lives_ because of us, you know? Do we really want to make it like that with our kids?”

 

“No.”

 

Baltimore with him and Michael is different than just visiting Debbie and Len and the rest of the family. They blend in back home; they might not in Bmore. It’s been so long since Michael moved that it’d be weird at first, even after all these years, and people might be up in their business. He doesn’t think Lo would deal well. Maybe even Oliver wouldn’t; he’s outgoing, he likes people, but . . . it’d be worse for him here in Baltimore.

 

In Gville, people actually see him as him, not as the second coming of Michael or even Ryan or anybody at all.

 

\---

 

_Wednesday, June 28, 2028 – Omaha, NE_

 

A knock at the door knocks him out of his thoughts. It’s Hilary. “I just – um – wanted to check on Oliver. I mean, everyone does, really, but we didn’t want to overwhelm you guys, so we – so it’s just me.”

 

“He’s sleeping. Him and Lo, they were watching a movie.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you –”

 

“ _I’m_ up.” He waves a hand at himself. He hasn’t even changed yet. “Um, sit. If you want.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Can’t sleep.”

 

“Where’s Michael?”

 

 “Out.” He bites his lip.

 

“Lo was kind of . . . worried before. And she said she would text me and she didn’t, so yeah. I wanted to see if everything was OK with you guys.”

 

“Um, thanks, by the way, for that. Lo, I mean.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me. Especially not for that.”

 

\---

 

_November 27, 2026 – Baltimore, MD_

 

Hilary is Lo’s favorite aunt. Probably helps that she’s the only woman Lo’s close with that doesn’t have any kids of her own and makes time for her despite the distance.

 

When Hilary and Michael and Whitney get back from their annual sibs-only Black Friday dinner, Hilary wants to talk to him and Michael alone. She asks if they’ve thought about what Oliver going for the Olympics will be like for Lo.

 

They haven’t, not really. They would’ve, they always think about her and Oliver does, too – too much sometimes, Mom and Debbie tell them – but not yet.

 

Michael thinks he’s got it covered. “I know what it’s like to be on this side of things. In the stands.”

 

Ryan doesn’t, not really. It’s not the same as other meets, even big ones, because this is Oliver and he’s not sure how he’ll handle it. He doesn’t think he’ll go hide out like his mom does. People have seen him cry before so he doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll be like Debbie. He loves Debbie, but the thought makes him snort out loud.

 

“What?” Michael and Hilary ask.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Hilary shakes her head with a smile. “It’s not the same, Mike.”

 

\---

 

But they try.

 

The four of them talk about the actual details of everything – the schedule, what to pack, dealing with the media if they come knocking and not to pay too much attention to things they say (they talk about that a _lot_ ) – and what happens at Trials and what comes after Trials.

 

They try to explain to Lo what it was like on their side of things, so she gets what Oliver’s going through, especially when he starts to get a little more obsessed with his swimming than he’s ever been.

                                                                                                                                            

They hope it’ll help.

 

\---

 

_Wednesday, June 28, 2028 – Omaha, NE_

 

“I want to though. It helps. Right now everything’s like complicated and . . . I dunno.”

 

“I don’t want to pry,” Hilary says, but it sounds like it doesn’t come easy. They’re fine, they’ve been fine for a long time, but Hilary’s always been a little . . . awkward with him, after everything.

 

“Well, there’s stuff I – sorry, but Michael needs to hear first. Because that’s our kid, you know?” The rest of it just comes out. “But like I didn’t even have a chance, I left for dinner while Oliver was taking a nap and when I got back, they were like losing their shit. Oliver was mad at Michael and Michael was like mad at _me_ because Oliver wasn’t mad at me and it just . . . like I don’t even know how it got that crazy. Like I talked to him and it was better and now Lo’s here, but he was so mad at Michael before and it’s not – I don’t know what to do. It’s not fair.”

 

“Life isn’t fair,” Hilary says wryly.

 

“You sound like my grandma.”

 

“Gee, thanks.” Then she’s serious. “I think he’d give it all back if that would make it OK for Oliver.”

 

Even after everything, that’s not something they’d do for each other – something they’d want from each other. But Oliver is . . . it’s just different. “Me, too. I mean, I think he would. I would, too, if it helped, but like I don’t think –” He doesn’t know how it’ll sound to Hilary. “It’s not me.”

 

“It isn’t. No offense,” she adds quickly.

 

“You’re good. I get it. It’s just . . . easier. To –”

 

“Compare them. The 200 fly? Is asking for it. And so young. At least if it’d been the 100, you did that too, it wouldn’t be such a head-to-head kind of thing then . . . Like literally the side-by-side comparisons . . .”

 

“Maybe I’m crazy, but I think . . . is it just me or does he look more like Mike now than when he was little?”

 

“If you’re crazy, that makes two of us. It was a little unnerving, seeing him on the blocks today.” Hilary wrinkles her nose. “But he’s a little luckier in the ears.”

 

“Braces are helping, too.”

 

“Be careful or he’ll be a nightmare; I’m pretty sure being gawky was the only thing standing between my little brother and total insufferableness. Well, that and . . .  Dad.” She sighs. “I’m glad Oliver doesn’t have to worry about that.”

 

“Worry about?”

 

“You being here, both of you, not feeling like he has to earn your love, like if he’s just a little bit better, faster, stronger, it’ll be –” Hilary cuts herself off. “That you both love him and he knows that. He’s lucky. He’s lucky to have you. You and Michael and Lo –”

 

He feels a little choked up. “Can’t forget the Bmore crew.”

 

“Better not. But seriously . . . He may not feel like it tonight, but Oliver _is_ lucky. . . . he’s like you, in ways that are good for him. Ways that I think will – already do – make him happier than Michael was at that age. But . . . he’s a lot like Michael, too. They’re hard-headed, both of them.” She smiles wryly. “Sorry you have to put up with that.”

 

“We all kinda are though.”

 

Hilary laughs.

 

\----

 

Talking to Michael when he finally gets back is a little easier after his talk with Hilary.

 

“I mean, I don’t know. He talks to you and so does Lo and I just –”

 

“I _get_ her to talk to me. But when she’s _looking_ for somebody to talk to, Mike? She goes to y –”

 

“Yeah. But not always. And Oliver –”

 

“I mean – boys don’t really go looking to talk to anybody, yeah?”

 

“But you get him to talk to you and he just – he shuts down with me and I don’t get – it’s hard.”

 

“Like it’s just, I think – with this, it’s . . . a lot of people compare him to you, you know? That’s hard, trust me.”

 

Michael sighs.

 

“But like, it’s different for him, you know?” What Hilary said, about Oliver being lucky . . . he is, but having your family love you doesn’t mean you don’t worry about making them proud. “Like you know how bad I wanted to make my dad proud and busted my ass for that. And my dad didn’t even go to the Olympics.”

 

“I _am_ proud of him, _we’re_ proud of him –”

 

“Like I know he wants us both to be proud of him, you know? But you – I think he wants to impress you more. Like it’s just, I think – I think that it’s hard for him to get that you don’t expect him to do what you did. Because a lot of other people do and I think it’s just – it’s all tangled up in his head, you know? And I – I’m not sure how to make him get it. How to make that better for him. For both you guys.”

 

“Thanks for trying. I know I was a dick before.” Sometimes that’s Michael for _I’m sorry._

 

“’s OK. Just let him get a good night’s sleep. I can clear out in the morning, take Lo with me, leave you guys alone. I just – yeah. Trust me, Mike. But go easy on him, OK?”

 

Michael doesn’t look totally satisfied, but he nods.

 

\---

 

When Ryan wakes up, he’s a little groggy but manages to untangle himself from Michael to go check on Oliver, who’s fast asleep, looking a lot more relaxed than before and hogging the covers away from poor Lo – who’s snoring into the other pillow next to him – like he always does.

 

After he throws another blanket over Lo, he stands back to look at the twins, really feeling for the first time that night that Oliver will be OK. He won’t get over this right away, if ever, but he’ll be OK.

 

Because they’ll – he and Michael and Lo – will make sure of it.


	2. Michael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to ask for feedback/kudos/comments, etc., but it would be great to know if/that there are people still reading and still interested in these stories, because there is more stuff I could post . . .

When Oliver is a baby and a toddler, bath time excites him more than play time. He demonstrates that by soaking Ryan to the skin every night.

 

But Oliver’s love of water doesn’t meant they’ll push him to swim, no matter how many times Ryan jokes that their son is “pretty much swimming” in the bath every night.

 

They’ll show both kids the basics (like how to blow bubbles and float) and then take them to some lessons, just so they’ll learn more. And they’ll certainly support them pursuing it beyond that, but they won’t push. They aren’t going to be _those_ dads.

 

Except that after being manipulated into getting into the pool when he’s paralyzed by “stage” fright at his first real lesson, Oliver doesn’t need to be pushed to swim.

 

He likes it. A lot.

 

And he’s good at it. _Very_ good.

 

Breaks an age group record. Or two.

 

And people are much more aware of it than they were of Ryan or even Michael at that age. _Because_ of them.

 

Which is totally unfair to Oliver. And adds a lot of unnecessary pressure that they try their best to shield him from.

 

Somehow, luckily, that pressure doesn’t ever really seem to get to Oliver.

 

\---

 

Then – suddenly, way too soon – there are Olympic trials.

 

And the building attention makes Michael wish that maybe Oliver weren’t quite so good.

 

Or at least weren’t quite so good quite so _young_.

 

\---

 

_Wednesday, June 28, 2028 – Omaha, NE_

 

Oliver wanders out into the living room blinking and looking dazed.

 

“How’d you sleep?” Michael asks after an uncomfortable silence.

 

“OK.” Oliver sits down on the couch kitty corner from him. He taps his foot. “Where’s Pop?”

 

“Getting dinner with your sister. They’re bringing us something back.”

 

Silence again.

 

“Um – All right. So listen, I wanted to talk to you and since –”

 

“Dad –”

 

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out like you wanted.”

 

“Understatement.”

 

“And I just – I want you to know that you don’t have to do what I did, that you shouldn’t –”

 

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

 

“I didn’t say you were, I just thought –”

 

Oliver jumps to his feet. “Who says I even _want_ to?”

 

“I didn’t, I just – I know today must have been . . . hard.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“No, you don’t know. You don’t know _anything_ , Dad. You’ll never know.”

 

He knows Oliver’s upset, but really – “Oliver –”

 

“You’ve never not made an Olympic team.”

 

“True, but – it’s not like I’ve never been disappointed. I lost races –” His first Olympics, for one, and –

 

“Races that didn’t matter because everybody already knew you were the best!”

 

“Oliver –”

 

“It probably bothered you, didn’t it? Because you’re the fucking best at everything in this stupid fucking sp –”

 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he says angrily, reflexively, because he can’t believe how this conversation’s turned on him.

 

“What? Asking you a question you don’t wanna answer?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“And you know what I mean, Dad.”

 

“I don’t actually, because I’m not sure why you’re being like this. Yeah, losing bothered me. It’d bother anybody. It’s bothering you right now, which is –”

 

“I mean that it bothered you that I might make it just a little bit before you,” Oliver finishes with something that sounds like satisfaction.

 

And that’s a sucker punch of a sentence. “Of course not, you’re my –”

 

“Because I would’ve if you’d just let me go a little harder!”

 

That’s not fair. It’s _not_. Because they’re on the same page, Ryan and him. They don’t want for Oliver the kind of life _he_ had to have to do what he did at that age. They want different, they want better, they want _normal_ for Oliver, as long as he can have it with the kind of talent he’s already started showing. It isn’t just Michael, he isn’t some jealous mon –

 

\---

 

_Sunday, December 9, 2018 – Gainesville, FL_

 

“. . . But I think the reason I didn’t at all – it’s – somewhere along the way I got a little . . . jealous. Like I couldn’t even really admit it to myself, let alone you. So I just couldn’t say anything, at all.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

“Everyone was saying – how you might actually – and I just – how could I _admit_ that? To _you_? You always – you never – you were always better than that.”

 

\---

 

_Wednesday, June 28, 2018 – Omaha, NE_

 

Maybe he was, once, a lifetime ago.

 

But in the here and now, that was the last thought on his mind. He’s older and wiser, but it’s not about having taken his knocks and learned his lesson the really hard way. It’s just different. This is their son and he wants so much for him. _They_ want so much for him, for both their kids – they want _everything_ for them.

 

Michael understood what was at stake way back before the ball really got rolling. He knew what Oliver could do and the benchmark he could break, but what worried him were the repercussions, the things people would read into it, the things that would be expected from Oliver because of it, how it would draw more attention, enough to overwhelm a grown man twice his age, let alone a kid. Even when it’s over something you want . . .

 

Michael knows what happens when you get everything you wanted and everything you wished for. That it’s never exactly what you expect. That it can sometimes even be your undoing.

 

He tries to stick to neutral statements, uncomplicated things Oliver can’t pick apart or get worked up about. “You don’t know that.”

 

“Yeah I do, like I totally –”

 

“You can never really _know_ with this –”

 

“Can you just, like, _leave me alone_?” Oliver stalks off toward the bedroom.

 

“ _Oliver_ –” he insists, speeding after him.

 

And then Oliver slams the door in his face.

 

But he’s not going to give up. Which means pounding on the door until his impossibly hard-headed son opens up, because there’s so much more he needs to – “Damn it, Oliver!” He blows out an angry breath as Ryan walks into the sitting area. “Like why is it always you?”

 

“Why’s _what_ always me?”

 

“You always fucking talk to Oliver –”

 

“Um –”

 

“Why were you all, go get something to eat with Lo, like basically get the fuck out of here before?” It’s just so fucking unfair – why is he always –

 

“That’s not –”

 

“That _is_ ,” Michael snaps, jumping to his feet and striding past Ryan towards the door.

 

“Jesus, Mike, it’s _not about you_. Not everything is fucking about you!” He’s jerking away from Ryan’s outstretched hand – because fuck him, it _is_ , he doesn’t have a fucking clue what the hell just happened – when he notices Lo looking at them with wide, worried eyes from the doorway, keycard dangling from her fingertips.

 

He’s not about to get into it with Ryan in front of her, but he’s too angry to be reasonable, so he settles for squeezing her shoulder and telling her he’ll see her later.

 

\---

 

He hears Oliver’s words over and over again. Every stroke, every kick, every turn.

 

_I would’ve if you’d just let me go a little harder!_

 

They thought they were doing the right thing.

 

\---

 

_March 2026 – Baltimore, MD_

 

“D’you think he’s right?” Ryan asks uneasily.

 

_Bob._

 

“That Oliver needs more of a challenge? Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Michael rubs at his face.

 

“He’s a kid, Mike.”

 

“I know. But –”

 

“Like not even a teenager.”

 

“High school next fall. And like if he _was_ going to make a big change, that’s the time –”

 

“We’re definitely not splitting up our _family_.”

 

“We wouldn’t –”

 

“You don’t think sending Ols to live with your mom here is splitting us up? That’s what Bob –”

 

“I don’t want to do that either.” Michael sighs.

 

“Good.”

 

“So it’s a definite no.”

 

“Didn’t say that. It’s not. But the only way he swims with Bob is we go with him.”

 

“We go with him . . . we _move_? To Baltimore?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But we’ve never –”

 

“Like I’m not saying we definitely _should_ , but if he goes, we go.”

 

“Yeah. Obviously. But like –

 

“We could.”

 

“But should we? Like we can move but like . . . it’s not just him or us. It’s Lo, too, and like . . . my sisters took a lot of time out of their lives to follow me around the world to meets and your siblings did too, but they never had to uproot their whole _lives_ because of us, you know? Do we really want to make it like that with our kids?”

 

“No.”

 

Lo loves his mother and Len (ugh) and her aunts and uncles and cousins, but she’d hate leaving Florida. And he doesn’t want to ruin the twins’ relationship like that.

 

Still . . . “But I feel like . . . I don’t want him to be _me_ but I feel like . . . we’d be cheating him. Because Bob . . . like we know he works, you know?”

 

“Lots of people get to the Olympics without Bob.”

 

“Yeah I know,” Michael says, rolling his eyes.

 

“No – I mean like . . . whatever not just me or like – it’s not a Bob versus Gregg versus whoever thing. Like other people who were good super-young . . . Katie or Missy or – Missy turned out OK, didn’t she?”

 

\---

 

_June 2027 – Gainesville, FL_

 

They talk to Missy once school’s let out.

 

“If you were us, what would you do? Like . . .”

 

“I . . . I don’t know.”

 

“OK, let’s say Todd said to you that he thought Charlie was the next big thing in swimming –”

 

“And you should send him to live with your parents so Todd could coach him and –”

 

“Absolutely not,” Missy interrupts fiercely.

 

“Because?”

 

“He’s not not living with us, ever.”

 

“Even when he’s 80?” Ryan laughs.

 

Michael rolls his eyes.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Would you move?”

 

“If – if I really thought that was what was best for him. I mean, if _we_ really thought. Obviously, Nathan and I would have to talk about it. I could work from somewhere else and Colorado’s home, but there’s his work to think about. If we really thought it was the best thing for Charlie, though, we’d find a way to –”

 

“Would it be?”

 

“We’re not talking about Charlie.”

 

“We’re not.”

 

“So ask me the question you want me to answer.”

 

“Do you think training with Bob would be best for Oliver?”

 

“I don’t think it’s my place to –”

 

“We’re making it your place to tell us what you honestly think.”

 

“I don’t. And if Gregg weren’t retired, I’d say the same thing about him, too,” she says carefully. “Because if swimming is something Oliver is serious about, it’d be a lot of pressure just having _one_ of you for a dad. And he has both of you. And then being coached by Michael’s coach – even if Michael were the only really high-performing swimmer Bob ever coached, and he’s definitely not, Michael, well, you know what you did and it’s just – it’s a lot of pressure on one boy and I think working with Bob would make it worse in a way.”

 

“And Bob . . . like I think he’d suck the fun out of swimming,” Ryan admits after a long silence. “And Oliver’s – yeah, he’s a kid, you know? I don’t want him to think about swimming like it’s just times and yards and meters and black lines. It has to be fun because like . . . what if – What if Bob’s wrong? Like he’s good, but . . .” Ryan trails off.

 

Neither of them wants to say it. Michael believes in Oliver more than anything, but he worries and he wonders, too. “He gets pushed too hard and burns out,” he finishes instead.

“Yeah. Then if he’s in it just to be the best, he’s gonna hate it.”

 

“It does need to be fun. But . . . on the flip side, I don’t think Bob would be this . . . tyrant you think he’d be, Ry. He understands how to work with somebody who’s under that pressure. And I think – I mean, having worked with him most recently, you know, on the national team – I think he’d approach it at least a little bit differently than he did Michael.”

 

“Hopefully,” Ryan mutters.

 

\---

 

_June 28, 2028 – Omaha, NE_

 

When Michael finally gets back, he finds his sister sitting with Ryan.

 

Hilary just looks at him for a second. And then at Ryan for a little longer.  Hilary clears her throat. “Well, um – good night. Give Oliver my love. And Lo, obviously.”

 

“Don’t wanna forget the princess.”

 

“Never,” Hilary says with a half-smile. She kisses Ryan on the cheek and it seems to catch him off-guard a little. She squeezes Michael’s shoulder on the way out. “Night.”

 

And then they’re alone and just stare at each other.

 

“Sit?” It’s a question.

 

He does.

 

“Kids in bed?”

 

“It’s past midnight.”

 

“So that’s a yes?”

 

“Yeah.” Ryan sighs. “So um . . . what – what happened, exactly?”

 

He folds his hands and tries to sort it all out. “I tried to talk to him about . . . today and he just – like he’s upset, I get that, but like he blamed me and he like implied – no, pretty much outright said I was probably jealous that he might make the team first, like I don’t even – how could he –” 

 

Ryan’s just looking at him, not saying anything, and fuck him, but it _hurts_.

 

“I wasn’t. I’m not. Ryan!”

 

“I didn’t say anything.”

 

“Exactly. I’m telling you all this and you’re just . . .” He shrugs. “Nothing. Saying _nothing_. Like you won’t agree, but you don’t think he’s wrong. And he is. He’s my son, for God’s sake. Not to – this isn’t – I –”

 

“I know.” Ryan gets up and sits next to him, throws an arm behind him. His hand is warm even through the sleeve of Michael’s shirt. “I didn’t think like – like I needed to say that, like all the times we talked about him and this and everything, I just – I’m thinking. Like I don’t think he actually thinks that because like . . . who thinks that?” It feels like Ryan’s trying to rub the tension out of his arm – not likely to work, he feels like he’s about to snap out of his skin, but he appreciates the effort. “Like before, you and me, we actually had like a rivalry and all and I didn’t, like it didn’t even –”

 

“This isn’t about that,” he snaps defensively. “Sorry,” he mutters.

 

“I know. Like sidetracked.” That’s a more serious tangent than Ryan’s usual, those usually make him laugh. “Like he’s . . .  like he . . . he feels like that and he’s putting it all on you.”

 

“Projecting? Projecting it onto me.”

 

“Yeah. Like he thought he could and he’s like – he wants a reason why not. And we’re easy, you know?”

 

“ _I’m_ easy. You said before that everything isn’t about me, but for him, this is.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I just . . . do I sound like a brat if I say _it’s not fair_?” He leans into Ryan.

 

“No.”

 

They’re quiet for a long time.

 

Ryan sniffs. “You smell –”

 

“Geez, thanks –”

 

“Like chlorine.”

 

He bought a fucking Speedo at the hotel gift shop and did a bunch of laps in the shitty hotel pool. Lucky that nobody else was there at that point or somebody would’ve taken a bunch of pictures of him and the pissy bitch face he knows he was making and written some crap about how mad he was that Oliver lost and that’d feed into everything and just – “I don’t know, I just like –”

 

“Needed to get away?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I mean, I don’t know. He talks to you and so does Lo and I just –”

 

“I _get_ her to talk to me. But when she’s _looking_ for somebody to talk to, Mike? She goes to y –”

 

“Yeah. But not always. And Oliver –”

 

“I mean – boys don’t really go looking to talk to anybody, yeah?”

 

“But you get him to talk to you and he just – he shuts down with me and I don’t get – it’s hard.”

 

“Like it’s just, I think – with this, it’s . . . a lot of people compare him to you, you know? That’s hard, trust me.”

 

Michael sighs.

 

“But like, it’s different for him, you know? Like you know how bad I wanted to make my dad proud and busted my ass for that. And my dad didn’t even go to the Olympics.”

 

It’s not just him that counts. He knows how much Ryan means to Oliver. In fact, there’s a part of him that’s a little bit jealous of that bond sometimes and, if he’s feeling particularly down on himself, wonders if Ryan’s better at this, better with Oliver especially, because Ryan had Steve, learned what to do and what _not_ to do. “I _am_ proud of him, _we’re_ proud of him –”

 

“Like I know he wants us both to be proud of him, you know? But you – I think he wants to impress you more. Like it’s just, I think – I think that it’s hard for him to get that you don’t expect him to do what you did. Because a lot of other people do and I think it’s just – it’s all tangled up in his head, you know? And I – I’m not sure how to make him get it. How to make that better for him. For both you guys.”

 

“Thanks for trying. I know I was a dick before.” _I’m sorry._

 

“’s OK. Just let him get a good night’s sleep. I can clear out in the morning, take Lo with me, leave you guys alone. I just – Trust me, Mike. But go easy on him, OK?”

 

\---

 

_Thursday, June 29, 2028_

_Happy almost birthday to me._

 

He can’t decide if he’s too old or too young for this.

 

Michael knows things didn’t end well between them last night, so he doesn’t know where to start after Oliver finally gets up, hair sticking up all over the place.

 

Oliver’s still yawning when Ryan and Lo bolt with an excuse about finding coffee for them all, but stiffens when he realizes they’re alone.

 

“Sit.”

 

Oliver just stands there and stares at him.

 

He’s never going to be _sure_ they made the right choices, but they can’t change any of it. “We let you go a little harder and you could’ve just as easily burned out,” he blurts out.

 

“You didn’t.”

 

“You’re not me.”

 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Oliver snaps.

 

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

 

“But not in a good way either!”

 

“In a neutral way. Statement of fact. Everyone’s different. Yeah, you’re more like me than, say, a random swimmer you pluck out of the pool. You have to be.”

 

“Yeah, DNA does that,” Oliver says sarcastically. Hopefully he got a little more out of honors biology than that.

 

“And, you know, that we’re raising you. But you’re you, not me, not either of us, really –” He got good at media and at public speaking over years and years of training and practice. At airing real feelings in private, in charged situations? Not so much, not even after all he’s been through – _they’ve_ been through – because he was so terrible at it, but he’s got to give it his best shot. “And a lot of things could’ve happened. Let’s say you weren’t totally burned out, you still could’ve been run down by the time you got here. Maybe picked up a summer cold or something just as annoying. Stomach bug. Whatever. Not made the final. Hell, maybe not even made semis.”

 

“You’ve got so much faith in me.” He didn’t think it was possible for Oliver to sound more sarcastic.

 

“I do, actually.”

 

Oliver scoffs.

 

“Those things I just mentioned? None of them actually matters. I mean because you can’t control them and neither can I. But I worry about them anyway, because I worry about you. Because I’m your dad. What matters is that I’m your dad. And what I can control is what I do as your dad. I’m not your friend and I’m not supposed to be. I’m not just going to say, yeah, that’s a good idea, just because you want to, because that’s what you want to hear. I’m not your coach either. Your coach only has to care about swimming and you just passing classes so you don’t get suspended from the team at school or we pull you out of the club.”

 

Oliver tenses and Michael realizes just how loud his voice is getting.

 

He tries for quieter. “Me, both of us? We know you want so much more than that, that you _are_ so much more than that, that you’d never be happy just getting by. And it kind of scares us sometimes, we’re kind of in awe of it, how smart you are and how you never settle. And not just the being good at _things_ – that you’re – you’re a good egg. You’re a good kid. A good brother. The best. And you know I don’t say that – any of that – lightly.” That last one especially makes Michael think that with all the ways they’ve messed up, they still must’ve done something right. It makes him want to smile.

 

Oliver still doesn’t say anything, but the set of his shoulders relaxes, softens, somehow.

 

“We don’t want you losing all that other stuff that’s you to just swimming. Yeah, you’re good at it. Really good, no matter what happened yesterday. But it’s not everything. It’s not even close to everything you are and we have to look out for all of you.”

 

There’s silence after that, but he doesn’t really know what else to say, because that’s it and he hopes it’s enough. He sits down.

 

“I, um – I – thanks, Dad – that – I – thanks.” Oliver takes a deep breath. “I just, um –” He waves at himself. “I should shower.”

 

“Just wait for breakfast. Shower later.”

 

Oliver hesitates but sits down.

 

They just sit for a while in silence until Michael remembers what Ryan said last night and realizes there’s one more thing he does have to say, something he never heard from Fred because Fred wasn’t around, something he hardly ever heard from Bob, because Bob always thought he knew. Something Ryan says all the time, because he’s always been more effusive than Michael. And it’s easy, so easy, that he has no idea why he doesn’t say it more often, because he always feels it. “Ols?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

 

He knows from Oliver’s face that that was exactly what he needed to hear.


	3. Lo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo’s perspective. Originally started as one extended scene.
> 
> I think this is the first time I post something from her POV other than the crack-y one-shot on LJ eons ago.

_Wednesday, June 28, 2018 – Omaha, NE_

 

All she wants to do is get out of here because it’s hard to keep a normal expression on her face. But she doesn’t get to, because she’s not the one who just lost the most important race of her life.

 

It stresses her out, the whole thing, and it isn’t even the main event, she can’t imagine what that would be like, she doesn’t really remember when it was Daddy. But she wanted Oliver to get what he wanted and even though he tried to act OK, she knows her twin and she knows he’s not OK. How could he be OK?

 

So whatever she wants, she’s not going anywhere until her dads think Oliver’s had enough time.

 

Aunt Hilary leans down from the row behind her to whisper in her ear, “Are you –”

 

“Fine.”

 

Aunt Hilary squeezes her shoulder.

 

“I’m thirsty,” Taylor complains from her left.

 

“I’ve got some water if you –”

 

“It’s probably _boiling_ by now.”

 

“Don’t be melodramatic, Taylor. It’s not attractive.”

 

“My boyfriend doesn’t mi –”

 

Lo rolls her eyes. For the first time ever, Aunt Whitney hates one of Taylor’s boyfriends but Taylor won’t hear anything against him, even though everybody else hates him, too. Even she hates him and she agrees with Taylor on pretty much everything.

 

“I could use a drink, too,” Aunt Hilary interrupts.

 

“Lo?”

 

“If it’s OK –”

 

“Mom, if Michael asks, Taylor and I took Lo to get something to drink.”

 

Dad’s busy talking so it’s not like he’ll notice she’s gone.

 

“Hilary –”

 

“Just for a smoothie or something, we won’t take long.”

 

“I’m going, too,” Aunt Whitney adds.

 

“Do you have to?”

 

“Taylor Marie.”

 

Taylor sighs.

 

\---

 

They’ve had every last sip of their smoothies by the time Dad’s ready to head back. He doesn’t talk and she doesn’t really want to talk either. She’s run out of things to say after so much time with her aunts and cousin, so she plugs her earbuds into her phone because her music’s better than the silence.

 

It’s been a long day and she just wants to go to bed, no matter how early it is. But she can’t because she’s sharing a room with Oliver and he needs his space, so she stretches out on the couch.

 

She’s almost asleep but then her stomach growls, so she digs the trail mix Aunt Hilary gave her before the final out of her bag. Her stomach growled then, too, because she was so nervous she couldn’t eat breakfast that morning, but she didn’t touch it because she was _still_ too stressed out to eat even though she was hungry.

 

Now there’s nothing to be nervous about. _Bon appétit_ _._

 

Halfway through the bag, someone takes one of her earbuds out.

 

It’s Dad.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Kind of, yeah, but Aunt Hilary gave me this and it’s actually pretty good, so –”

 

“How about dinner?”

 

She shrugs. “I guess.”

 

“You guys can go, I’ll stay here, don’t want Oliver to wake up to an empty room.”

 

Daddy shakes his head. “Actually, I’m not really hungry. Maybe –”

 

“I’ve got it, it’ll be fine,” Dad insists.

 

“I could just go by my –”

 

“No,” they say at the same time.

 

\---

 

She would rather be eating by herself. She could take her time and not worry people might bug them, because nobody knows _her_ , not when she’s alone. But if she’s with her dads, people will remember they have two kids, twins, that she’s Oliver’s sister.

 

If her father weren’t sitting next to her, nobody would think it was rude if she listened to some music. But because he’s there, she can’t, even if _he’s_ acting like _she’s_ not.

 

And he doesn’t want her to come back.

 

“Daddy –”

 

“ _Lo_.”

 

The only reason she doesn’t stomp off is because she doesn’t want anybody to see she’s mad and think it’s about Oliver’s race. She can throw a tantrum about that when it’s just her.

 

Her dads have trained her well, but it’s not like they’ll notice.

 

\---

 

She sits in the lounge, listening to music and checking Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and whatever, because she doesn’t want to tell people her father told her to scram. But she has her limits. Her battery’s running low, so she decides to go back for just a second to get her charger and walks smack into her dads fighting. Like _real_ fighting. Voices raised, swearing at each other.

 

“Why’s _what_ always me?”

 

“You always fucking talk to Oliver.”

 

“Um –”

 

“Why were you all, go get something to eat with Lo, like basically get the fuck out of here before?”

 

They’ve been telling _her_ to get out a lot lately, too. Doesn’t feel so hot, does it?

 

“That’s not –”

 

“That _is_ ,” Dad snaps.

 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Mike, it’s _not about you_. Not everything is fucking about you!” Daddy’s reaching for Dad’s arm when he finally notices her.

 

She stutters, “Sorry, I forgot my –”

 

Dad walks past her, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “See you later.”

 

“What was that about? Are you guys, like –”

 

“We’re . . . This is tough.”

 

“No kidding.” She sighs, perching herself on the side of the couch. “Daddy, I just . . .”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Since she’s here anyway . . . “I don’t want to bug him, but, like, I don’t want him to think I don’t care or something. Like . . .”

 

“He knows.”

 

“But –”

 

“You guys are just different. And like, this –”

 

“Is different,” she finishes.

 

“Yeah. Just – right now, I think maybe you should just go see somebody? Like Nana or Grandma or whoever?”

 

 _It can get really frustrating_.

 

Lo digs her fingers into her legs. “Daddy, that’s not really doing anything for –”

 

“It is.”

 

“But –”

 

“He really needs a time-out, OK?”

 

_Call, text, whatever, whenever._

 

**(352) Can I come over???**

 

“OK.”

 

“So take your time. Don’t come back right away. I’ll text you.”

 

It takes less than a minute for Aunt Hilary to answer.

 

**(443) Just use your key, be back in 5**

 

“Got it.”

 

\---

 

“You have such beautiful hair,” Aunt Hilary sighs when she starts separating it into sections.

 

“You always say that.”

 

“Because it’s true. It’s gotten darker, I think.”

 

“A little.”

 

“Maybe we can go to the shore once things settle down. I’ll talk to Whitney and your –”

 

“Could it be just us?”

 

“You and me?”

 

“Yeah. Or like Aunt Whitney and Taylor, too. Just not like . . .”

 

Her dads. Oliver.

 

“The guys. Your uncle’s not the biggest beach guy anyway, he’ll get over it.” Aunt Hilary hums as she braids and it’s a nice background noise. “I made an appointment for us to get mani-pedis downstairs tomorrow. And I saw a sundress in one of the shops I think you’d like. We can get lunch after, the concierge recommended a place.”

 

“Yeah. Oh, um, I like the trail mix, by the way. Like a lot.”

 

“I’m glad. It’s a new mix. And it’s actually good for you. You’re active and you’re in good shape, but your metabolism isn’t the same as Oliver’s and your dads feed you guys like they haven’t got a clue.”

 

Yeah, Oliver’s a stick, even though the nutritionist started packing his meal plan with extra protein.

 

\---

 

“Lo?”

 

She startles awake. “I – uh –”

 

“You nodded off during the movie. You must be pretty tired.”

 

She yawns. “Yeah.”

 

“Do you just want to stay here? I can lend you something to sleep in.”

 

“I’ll ask.”

 

**(352) She says I can sleep here if you want**

 

“If Doug wasn’t already asleep, I’d say you could just sleep with me and he could stay out here. But I can call down for a cot if that’s more comfortable.”

 

If it were anybody else, Lo would say she doesn’t want to bother them. “That’d be good.”

 

Her phone pings a few minutes later. It’s a text from Oliver.

 

**(352-1) where r u?**

 

The cot’s sent up while they finish watching the movie. There’s also a toothbrush.

 

Her phone’s silent while she changes and washes her face and brushes her teeth.

 

“Good night.” Aunt Hilary kisses her forehead.

 

“Night.”

 

Then Aunt Hilary turns off the lights.

 

She’s not surprised Daddy didn’t answer.

 

**(352) Staying here**

 

\---

 

Her phone pings a few minutes later and she scrambles to check it.

 

**(386) no come back**

 

It’s too late and she’s tired.

 

It pings again and she ignores it.

 

Then again. And a third time. Then a fourth. She picks it up to turn off the sound and sees they’re all from Oliver.

 

**(352-1) seriously where r u**

**(352-1) stop ignoring me**

**(352-1) come back**

**(352-1) hey person who kidnapped my sister, we got $$$$. name your price**

She rolls her eyes, but it’s nice _somebody_ remembered her.

**(352) 1 billion dollars**

**(352-1) haha**

**(352) She’s worth it**

**(352-1) if she comes back in the next 5 mins**

**(352) She’s in bed already**

**(352-1) please???**

 

He said please.

 

She texts her aunt instead of leaving a note.

 

**(352) Oliver wants me to come back. Thanks for everything <3 See you in the morning :)**

 

She hears the ping in the bedroom and the answering ping from her own phone.

 

**(443) Let me know how things go. Text me ASAP or I’ll worry!!! xoxo**

**(352) OK**

 

\---

 

She sits out in the living room when she gets back because nobody else is there and she doesn’t want to get in the way.

 

The door wasn’t exactly quiet when she came in. Oliver must not have wanted her back all that –

 

“Sis?” Oliver calls.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Where are you?”

 

She heaves herself off the couch and sticks her head in the bedroom door. “Hey.”

 

“You didn’t text me back,” Daddy scolds.

 

 _Pot meet kettle._ She shrugs.  It’s not like he cared about the answer. “Sorry.”

 

“I was gonna come get you –”

 

He probably just didn’t want to look bad in front of Aunt Hilary.

 

“You can come in, you know,” Oliver interrupts him.

 

She hesitates. “I figured –” But she gets into Oliver’s bed on his other side. “Move over,” she orders, pushing at Oliver till he rolls over onto his stomach with a huff even though he just invited her in. She scoots in, chin propped in one hand and eventually starts running the other over Oliver’s back. That always relaxes _her_.

 

After a while, after Daddy leaves, she can’t take the silence. “Am I gonna have to sing you one of my super-duper awesome lullabies to cheer you up?”

 

“If the point’s making me go deaf,” Oliver answers cheekily.

 

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re just jealous because I’m the only one in this family who can carry a tune.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“I can take my talents down the hall; I’m sure Kiki would appreciate me coming by.”

 

“You can only stay if you promise _not_ to try and serenade me or anything.”

 

“Fine. You’re lucky I love you, brother dearest.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.”

 

There’s another long silence she finally has to fill. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out how you wanted.”

 

Oliver mumbles something she can’t quite catch.

 

“Can’t hear if you talk into your pillow, Ollie.”

 

“Don’t call me Ollie,” Oliver grumbles.

 

“I’ll call you whatever I want.”

 

Oliver doesn’t answer.

 

“Oliver? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be annoy–”

 

“I let you down.”

 

“Let me down?”

 

“Let you all down.”

 

He _didn’t_. She just feels bad he worked so hard and didn’t get what he wanted. “You didn’t let anybody down. I mean, I’m not a swimmer, but, like, I _know_ a lot about swimming, with you all. And like 3rd place at Olympic trials when you’re not even 15? I know that doesn’t make the team, but it’s a super big-deal.”

 

“Still doesn’t make the cut.”

 

“I _know_ but –”

 

“But that’s what matters. And I just – like, our whole family and our friends came all the way to _Omaha_ and I didn’t even make the team.”

 

“We’re still proud of you. And you obviously will next time. Anyway, our friends still would’ve been here,” she points out reasonably. Evan and Isa with their dads, who are here for their swimmers, Charlie for his mom.

 

Oliver’s not really listening, “Maybe I’ll just quit.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“You quit gymnastics.”

 

“Because Anna basically told me I was gonna just get suckier. And, like, let’s be real. I’m not crazy like you guys.”

 

“More stubborn though.”

 

Lo huffs. “Yeah, but I’m not about _playing through the pain_.”

 

“Different tune back in August.”

 

“Yeah, well. Like you said, stubborn. But do you ever wanna deal with me laid up again?”

 

“Yeah _no_.”

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

“You have really good aim. For –”

 

“If you say _for a girl_ , I’ll remind you just how good.”

 

“No thanks.”

 

“But seriously, like why would you even think about quitting? Unless you suddenly decided you _hate_ swimming or something crazy like that. And I know you don’t. You love it and you’re _so_ good at it. Like I have to work my butt off to be good at things and I’m still not as good at any of them as you are at swimming. It’d make me kind of mad if you quit.”

 

Oliver doesn’t say anything at first. “But I’m never gonna be good _enough_.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Who.”

 

“OK then, for who?”

 

“Dad.”

 

“Like, what do you mean? Dad’s not, like, mad or –”

 

“That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t wanna swim when we were little and nobody gave a shit.”

 

“When you put it that way –” she mutters.

 

“Like nobody can expect anything from your swimming because you don’t do it. Like, the only that would be totally embarrassing is if you, like, couldn’t swim enough not to drown.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m about to drown. But Ols? Dad’s not like judging you or anything. He’s like super-bummed you’re bummed. That’s it. Yeah, he wanted you to make the team. We all did. Because _you_ wanted to make the team. Or – I mean –” Pause. “ _Did_ you?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Not because, like, Dad or –”

 

“No.”

 

“Good. But like – I don’t know why you think he’s mad or –”

 

“Not . . . _mad_. Like disappointed.”

 

“ _For_ you. Not in you.”

 

“Yeah, but like, everyone’s been, like, saying how I’m just like Dad and like – it bugs me. Because Pop. And because I’m me, not them. And like because Dad did all this . . . super-human shit, it’s just like impossible. And like, I can’t live up to it and everybody expects me to and –”

 

“You don’t know that –”

 

“Um, have you _read_ any news or – like that dude Bob Costas? He’s like eighty and he came out of retirement because –” Oliver makes air quotes. “‘Michael Phelps’s son’ was going to be on the Olympic team.”

 

“Sucks for him, but he doesn’t matter and neither –”

 

“But it _does_.”

 

“No. it matters what you think. That’s it. Like, it doesn’t even matter we think unless it matters to you.”

 

“Of course it matters.”

 

“Well listen up, bro. We love you and we want you to be happy. Whatever that means. Like even if it meant quitting swimming. Which it doesn’t. You know it, I know it. Anybody that knows you knows it. If you do _super-human shit_ like Dad? Great. If you don’t do that, but you do really awesome like Daddy? Great. Even if you never make the team or you do but you never medal? Which, let’s be real, you would and you would medal, but not the point. Great, as long as you’re happy. Which, yeah, knowing you, you won’t be happy with that. But that’s because you’re really good. I know it sucks, because like, the Olympics are every four years. But four years from now? You’re gonna make the team. And you’re gonna be _awesome_. And I’m gonna cheer so hard I’ll lose my voice.”

 

“Thank God.”

 

She gives him another elbow to the side for that. “Hey! Is that seriously all you got out of that amazing inspirational speech?”

 

“Thanks, sis.”

 

“That’s better.”

 

After a little while, Oliver asks, “Can we watch a movie?”

 

“’Course, Ollie,” she yawns. She hopes he won’t be mad if she falls asleep two minutes in.

 

He doesn’t correct her this time.


End file.
